Some Sack, Francis
Prin. Poin. Anon, anon, Sir
Fal. Ha? a Bastard Sonne of the Kings? And art not
thou Poines, his Brother?
Prince. Why thou Globe of sinfull Continents, what
a life do'st thou lead?
Fal. A better then thou: I am a Gentleman, thou art
a Drawer
Prince. Very true, Sir: and I come to draw you out
by the Eares
Host. Oh, the Lord preserue thy good Grace: Welcome
to London. Now Heauen blesse that sweete Face
of thine: what, are you come from Wales?
Fal. Thou whorson mad Compound of Maiestie: by
this light Flesh, and corrupt Blood, thou art welcome
Dol. How? you fat Foole, I scorne you
Poin. My Lord, hee will driue you out of your reuenge,
and turne all to a merryment, if you take not the
heat
Prince. You whorson Candle-myne you, how vildly
did you speake of me euen now, before this honest, vertuous,
ciuill Gentlewoman?
Host. 'Blessing on your good heart, and so shee is by
my troth
Fal. Didst thou heare me?
Prince. Yes: and you knew me, as you did when you
ranne away by Gads-hill: you knew I was at your back,
and spoke it on purpose, to trie my patience
Fal.
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